I have yet to tell my professors at NYU that I will be discontinuing my education. This semester is clearly a lost cause but I don’t see how I’d be able to return for next semester either.
No, my life in the city is over.
And I think law school should also be over.
Really, it was Jules’s dream that I was fulfilling. NYU undergrad, followed by NYU Law. My plans have been designed around providing for Jules and the girls. Corporate law only interested me because it was the best chance to rake in a hefty salary and make my sister’s life easier. I would happily work endless hours so she wouldn’t have to. Jules had been working far too hard for far too long.
If only I’d managed to fulfill those plans sooner. Then Jules wouldn’t have been tiredly driving on an icy road late at night. Caitlin wouldn’t be wondering about her orphan status.
No, I won’t be going back to law school.
The girls tend to sleep soundly but I look in on them once more before plodding downstairs.
I dislike the feel of the empty first floor. The walls seem too far apart at night. I was here for the holidays and I could have stayed longer but I thought I had things to do in the city, things that were important. I can’t remember what those things were.
The last time I saw my sister was in this living room on New Year’s Day. She pretended like she was going to kidnap my cell phone so I couldn’t leave. She wrapped me in the tightest hug and made me swear I would return soon.
Of course I would return soon, I told her. I wasn’t Danny, swooping in once or twice a year. I promised I would be back for spring break, and then for a longer stay in the summer. We could rent a boat and take the girls out on the lake. They’d love the paddleboats that can be pedaled around the shallow areas.
I should have let her kidnap my cell phone. Making Jules happy was so easy and I could have made her happier.
This morning I saw Danny raiding our father’s old liquor cabinet in the front room’s long wooden sideboard. The thought of doing the same is tempting even though I’ve been truly drunk exactly twice in my life. Jules wasn’t a hard drinker and I’m surprised she even kept all that crap around. Perhaps she just never got around to throwing it away. The most she ever drank was a beer now and then. In fact, I remember seeing two random bottles in the fridge.
Speaking of the fridge, the shelves are in desperate need of restocking. I breathe out a low whistle of alarm as I take a quick inventory. The girls will need more milk and juice and fruit and whatever else one is supposed to feed four-year-olds. I’ll go shopping tomorrow. I still have the rental car for now. I suppose I need to consider actually buying a car. Jules’s car was totaled of course and even if it hadn’t been I wouldn’t want to see it again. The girls will need to be taken places. Preschool. The doctor. The park. Lake Stuart is hardly pedestrian friendly.
I shut the fridge with my beer in hand. Jules’s beer. There’s no telling how long it’s been in there.
It’s overwhelming, this concept of being responsible for two small people who will not be able to take care of themselves for a long time.
I love my nieces dearly.
I would walk over lava for them and without Jules here I would never have wanted them to be with anyone else but me.
Yet the years ahead feel abruptly terrifying.
Like this kitchen is terrifying.
Like this house is terrifying.
Like this town is terrifying.
I’m ashamed of these thoughts.
I want to escape them.
In spite of the freezing weather, I pull my sweater belt tight and step outside in my slippers.
The moon peers down from the edge of a winter cloud and the light in the carriage house window is on. I would assume Danny and Trent are in there reliving past glory days of constant trouble. They were a hell of a team and not always in a good way.
I used to think Trent was to blame for Danny’s wild behavior. When Trent was gone and Danny’s wild behavior didn’t fade, I knew I’d been wrong.
As if summoned by my thoughts, a slice of light appears as the carriage house door opens. Trent Cassini is silhouetted for a handful of seconds and he says something I cannot hear from all the way across the yard. The door shuts and his footsteps crunch in the direction of the back gate. If I say nothing, he may not even notice I’m here.
“Are you going home?” I blurt out.
He freezes. “What the hell are you doing out here in the cold?”
“I asked you a question first.”
“Yeah, I’m going home. Now answer mine.”
I hold up the bottle. “Making time for my date.”
He snorts and gets close enough for me to inhale a blend of sandalwood and musk. His cologne, or maybe his shower gel.
He gestures to the bottle. “If that’s from Cassini Brewery I’m going to spontaneously puke.”
“It’s not. No one in this house ever drank Cassini Beer.” The moon has temporarily escaped the clouds and I can see him more clearly now. His shirt is rolled to his elbows and he’s not wearing a jacket. “It can’t be more than thirty degrees out here.”
“More like twenty.”
“You must be cold.”
“Is that an offer to keep me warm, Gretch?”
I can’t stop from hissing out a disgusted noise. “Don’t do that.”
He leans on the wall right beside me. “What?”
“Flirt.”
“I don’t flirt.”
“Are you drunk, Trent?”
“Not quite.”
“Is Danny?”
“Just about.”
The beer bottle is making my cold hands even colder. I forgot to open it before coming out here. “How is he?”
“He’s your brother. Ask him.”
“Tomorrow.” I try to pry the bottle cap off and give up quickly. “I hear we’re neighbors again.”
He’s quiet for a minute. He plucks the bottle from my hands and screws off the cap with an easy flick of his wrist. He takes a long sip before handing it back. “You heard right.”
I tip the bottle to my lips and try not to dwell on the fact that Trent’s lips were just in the same place. The taste of the beer is bitter enough to choke on.
“This is terrible,” I sputter and set the bottle on the ground.
“It’s shit,” he agrees.
“Everything is shit right now.” I rub my eyes. “Do you want to talk about why you’ve moved back to Lake Stuart?”
“No.”
“Still rude,” I mutter but discovering this is somehow a relief. “Some things don’t change.”
“Eh, and some things do.” He looks me up and down and laughs to himself.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means that you’ve changed.”
I’m not sure what he’s getting at but I’m becoming grumpy. “And you know this thanks to all of our complex adult interactions.”
“I know it because you’re hot as fuck now and you didn’t used to be.”
If I was still holding the beer bottle I would have dropped it. I have no witty response ready to fire back. I’m startled and dazed.
And flattered.
Yes, I am definitely flattered. I’m a girl who was never called pretty as a child and now feels smug over being called pretty all the time.